Sounds of Silence
by astreamofstars
Summary: Memories and secrets and music, oh my. A no-attacks AU (romantic) relationship between these two amazing women.


There's been a baby grand piano in the corner of Laura's apartment for years. Black and polished, it's kept in tune and never touched.

Laura can't play a note.

Kara asks her about it one day after dinner, when they're lounging on the sofa, Laura's bare feet in Kara's lap, watching some mindless game show on tv. They know so little about one another, really, these two lonely women, but most of the time, it makes no difference. They fit, somehow, here in each other's company, side by side, giving each other a quiet, easy kind of comfort.

"It was my father's," Laura says. "He used to play when I was a little girl. I loved dancing to the music, twirling all over the place. But then he took it when he left my mother for my stepmother, and my sisters got the piano lessons." She gazes over at the instrument and the framed photographs on top of it, melancholy and hurt all at once, and Kara squeezes her toes gently. "I couldn't bear the piano after that, but then my father left it to me in his will and I couldn't stand to get rid of it."

"My father played piano too." But that's all Kara says, before turning back to the tv to shout out an answer at the quizmaster. Laura studies her for a moment, feeling the edges of something secret, but then is distracted by Kara tickling the sole of her foot, kicks out at her, and a pillow fight ensues.

* * *

Laura gives Kara a key to the apartment the fifth time she arrives home from work to find Kara sitting perched on the small wall outside the front door, swinging her legs and waiting. This time, it's pouring with rain and Kara's soaked to the bone, and Laura bundles her inside and pushes her towards the bathroom with a pile of towels.

When she heads to the school the next morning, she leaves the key on the counter in the kitchen. Kara finds it when she stumbles in looking for breakfast two hours later. The note it's sitting on top of just says "Don't mess the place up".

* * *

It's a week later when Laura arrives home and hears the tinkling of piano music coming from the open window of her bathroom. Kara's stumbling a bit over some of the phrasing and there are a few off-notes, but when she gets going, the sound is beautiful. Tears well up in Laura's eyes as a flood of memories rush through her, and she feels a flash of anger at Kara's presumptuousness. When she puts her key in the lock, it stops, immediately, and she hears the lid of the piano close softly as she walks through the door and puts her briefcase down on the ground. Kara wanders into the hallway with a bright smile and a slightly guilty expression in her eyes that she's clearly trying to hide, and Laura's anger dissipates immediately as Kara asks how her day was.

Kara needed this as much as Laura doesn't want to hear it, and so she simply resolves to leave the window closed the next time, as Kara ushers her into the kitchen and pours her a much-needed drink.

* * *

Sometimes Laura cooks in an evening, introducing Kara to new recipes and new flavours, to gourmet entrées and desserts that melt in the mouth. Sometimes its Kara's turn, and they eat out of takeout bags, pairing it with whatever wine Laura has in her wine rack.

Laura complains about the lack of variety, but there's a twinkle in her eye when she does, knowing Kara's propensity for retaliating by reaching over and wiping her greasy fingers all over Laura's bare arms and face, prompting food fights and a race to the shower to wash it all off. She's willing to put up with the grease if it leads to Kara's soapy hands all over her tingling skin and Kara's lips whispering things in her ear that make her blush.

Kara makes her feel wanted and desirable. It's been a long time since she felt that way.

* * *

She remembers to keep the windows closed, and it's only the occasional fingerprint that she wipes from the lid of the keyboard and the dent in the seat cushion that gives Kara's game away.

One day, she's going through some old papers in the filing cabinet in her study and comes across her father's old sheet music, a bundle of faded papers and battered books. She almost puts them back away, but instead she leaves them on her dining room table with some school papers.

They're in a different order when she comes home the following day, and she resolves to keep them out, finding them a new home on the large bookcase beside the fireplace. She never opens them, but they rarely need dusting like the rest of the books on the shelf she never reads.

* * *

They tend not to talk a lot. Not about anything personal. They fathom slivers of each other's secrets from sideways conversations and quiet moments of pillow talk, but they mostly communicate by touch and looks. They don't see each other every day, but when they do, it's physical.

Kara can never seem to get enough of Laura, finding ways under her clothes to her skin from almost the moment she walks through the door. She whispers in her ear about the scent of her skin, the way she tastes, the way she feels, and her eagerness inspires Laura to reciprocate. They explore every inch of each other's bodies in every room of Laura's home, kissing and caressing and laughing as they do. Sometimes it's gentle and quiet, sometimes playful and wild, and on the nights when Kara is off doing her own thing somewhere else, her side of the bed is cold. Laura finds herself reaching for the warmth that isn't there.

* * *

It's a hot summer, and Kara's left all the windows open to air the apartment out when Laura walks up to it, enjoying the scent of lilacs and roses drifting from the communal gardens below. She's clearly lost track of time, and the sound of a lively jazz piece comes floating out into the air.

Laura finds herself swaying to the music as she listens, almost tempted to go in, but she can't bring herself to do it. She fumbles in her purse for her phone and sends a message to Kara quickly, telling her that she's going to buy extra groceries and will be late home, then turns back towards her car. As she does, she hears the music trail off, and she's glad.

* * *

She can't even remember how the fight started, only that she's red-faced and tearful and Kara is pulling on that battered leather jacket, her jaw clenched as tight as her fists.

"If you go, I want my key back," she says, and it's the face of a stranger who stares at her as she pulls the keyring from her jacket pocket and slaps it down on the counter. She thinks how little she really knows about this girl who sometimes shares her food and shares her bed. Wonders how they let it get that way.

"Take it. I'm outta here. Got better things to do with my time." And the door slams behind her and Laura's left staring at the silver key glittering among the detritus of a half-eaten meal. The shine of the grease trail up her arm is glaring, and she walks to the sink, watching the soapy water wash Kara down the drain.

* * *

It's been two weeks and she's neither seen nor heard anything of Kara. Her evenings are quiet and cold and she's taken to spending as little time in her apartment as she can. On the nights when she's there, she sometimes can't resist sitting on the piano stool and running her fingers lightly over the keys, remembering the sounds they made, her memories all blending into one. Never for more than a few moments, though, before she gets up, stalks across the room and flings herself into a chair, opening a book and glaring at the words.

She has no idea where Kara might have gone, and that makes her almost as sad as the fact that Kara _is_gone. Somehow, she realises, this girl she welcomed into her home has made her way into her heart, and then left without a forwarding address.

* * *

Her front door is wide open when she climbs from her car after a long, stressful day in which two of her favourite students have been suspended for fighting, a phone call from the Department of Education has made it clear her budget is being slashed and she's failed not to think about Kara for the thirty second day in a row. The last thing she needs is a burglary to deal with on top of all of this, and she almost drops her briefcase as she rushes to the door.

The sound of the piano drifts over her as she reaches it, and a pair of carelessly shucked-off boots in the middle of her hallway make it clear who the burglar is. Laura walks into her living room and finds Kara engrossed in a piece she remembers from an old musical she once saw with her mother. She says nothing, just stands in the doorway, arms folded, watching the way Kara's fingers dance over the keys.

It's a few minutes before Kara notices she's there, but she doesn't stop playing, just segues into another tune as her eyes catch and hold Laura's. It's another old one, a song her father used to play again and again for her when she was a little girl because she loved it so and begged him to.

Kara's gaze is too piercing, and Laura closes her eyes, letting the music wash over her. She almost can't tell where she is anymore, her own apartment, or that house she grew up in, and her feet begin to guide her. She spins slowly, eyes tight shut, each note bouncing off the walls and into her heart, smelling the scents of lilacs and jasmine that wend through the open window, and the vanilla of the candles that Kara has lit all over the room.

The music trails off and suddenly warm arms are around her, feet moving with hers, and she rests her head on Kara's shoulder as they dance together slowly.

"That's my favourite song," she breathes into the skin of Kara's neck.

"I know. The book fell open to that page everytime I picked it up." Kara's arms tighten around her. "I needed this."

"I know. I missed you."

"I know. I missed you too." A kiss, pressed to her throat, then her cheek, then her lips.

"I know."

They sway together, dancing to the silent music, sharing each others secrets.


End file.
